


Denton CID

by Syllemail (syllemail)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crime, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Minor Character Deaths, Violence, descriptions of dead bodies, louis and harry as detectives, mullet - Freeform, usual things you'll find with a gritty crime drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:49:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8935933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syllemail/pseuds/Syllemail
Summary: Based on the incredible 'Inspector Jack Frost' series.
As usual Denton CID is understaffed and DI Louis Tomlinson's in-tray has reached new heights, literally. When a young boy is found raped and murdered near the forest and two other boys go missing, Tomlinson and temporary assistant, Harry Styles, will have to dig deep to untangle the web of lies and misdirects that surround both cases.





	1. Chapter 1

_Drop the gun._

_Bang._

_Don’t be so stupid mate, I said drop the gun!_

_Bang_

_No Evan! Stay where you are!_

_Bang._

 

Louis awoke with a start as the noisy vroom of a vacuum cleaner tore into his fitful sleep. Utterly disorientated, he rubbed his aching eyes with the palms of his hands and was pleasantly surprised to feel a duvet shifting under his arms. Well… at least he’d made it to bed last night. That would make it twice in one week – an impressive personal achievement, if he did say so himself. The poor couch would be getting lonely, as would his desk chair at work.

Stretching his arms up against the headboard, he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tightness of too many long nights spent hunched over a computer. Maybe he could convince Mullet to get him one of those massage chairs – out of ‘Duty of Care’ of course. Good posture is key to good health and good health is key to minimising the dent that long-term sick pay makes in the staffing budget.

_Thud_. The pitch of the vacuum cleaner suddenly changed and it was only then the noise from downstairs finally registered in his brain and Louis realised what it meant. With a groan of dread, he yanked the alarm clock off the night table and keened pitifully at the angry red 09:38. _Shit, shit, buggering shit, I’m late! So, so late_. _Mullet’s going to have me head on a block_! He ran a hand through his hair and groaned at how greasy it felt. _Fuck, I need a shower and a shave – there’s no way I can get away without. Fuck, fuck, Mullet’s going to fire my arse._ Scrambling out of bed, he promptly tripped over his discarded work trousers from the night before and nearly brained himself on the en suite door. _Fuck_. He hastily kicked the offending item towards the wall. However, it brought up a whole new question; _do I even have anything to wear today?! Cammy won’t have done anything because I still haven’t got the washing machine repaired and I completely forgot about the dry cleaners... Buggering, buggering fuck!_ Oh well, one issue at a time.

A two minute shower, a hasty shave and a quick scrub of his teeth later, Louis tore back into his room and almost ripped the cupboard door off it’s hinges. _Please let me have a clean shirt, please let me have a clean shirt_ , _please let me have a clean shirt_ he silently begged as he rifled through the hangers. Jumper, jumper, waistcoat, jeans, another jumper, a hideous orange top he wouldn’t be seen dead in, _fuck, fuck, fuck_. He dropped to his knees and ransacked the bottom shelf desperately, praying somewhere in the mess he would find something that had fallen off the rail. After a fruitless minute of nothing but odd items he yanked the whole mess out onto the floor. Amid the tangle there was a clean but very wrinkled light-purple shirt. It would have to do.

Camille got the fright of her life as he barrelled into the kitchen three minutes later. “Oh Mr Tomlinson!” She gasped, switching off the vacuum and clutching at her chest, “You scared me. I thought you were long gone!”

“Sorry Cammy,” he apologised, “I accidentally slept in and am now running very, very late. The Super is going to have my balls on a platter.”

“Not much change there then,” she chuckled, putting a hand on her full hips. “Do you have time for a spot of breakfast before you go?”

Louis made a pitiful noise as he glanced at the kitchen clock. 9.50 am. He should have been in the briefing twenty minutes ago. With traffic, he was lucky if he would make it to the station within the _next_ twenty minutes. Needless to say, he had no time to even scratch his bum. He made a sweeping grab for his shoes – wincing at how scuffed with mud and god knows what else they were, far from the polished perfection his boss expected. “I wish I did. You know I live for your omelettes Cam, but I just don’t have time. I’ll have to grab something later at the canteen – God help me. Nearly died of heartburn the last time I had one of their bacon butties.”

Cammy threw her head back and laughed heartily, her short greying ponytail bouncing along with her chin. “Okay.” She said. “Well, while you run about like a blue-arsed fly I’ll make you a cuppa to go.”

Louis grinned and blew her a kiss, “What would I do without you?”

“I shudder to think,” she replied, making for the kettle. “This house would definitely be a ruin. By the way, I’m heading to my daughter’s later on. Would you like me to drop some clothes at the laundrette on my way? You must be getting low on clothes by now.” The ‘I can tell by the state of your shirt that you’re in trouble’ was silent but also incredibly loud.

Finishing with his laces, Louis stood up and swooped down to press a kiss to her cheek, “You’re a lifesaver, love. There’s some money in the box on top of the fridge. Take as much as you need and a little extra for your trouble.”

 

~*~

 

As Louis was swearing his way through the heavy morning traffic, Richie Taylor was returning home from the job centre. He had a handful of applications in his back pocket but he hadn’t a hope of getting anything this side of Christmas. Most of the holiday positions were filled by mid-November – just when he’d been let go. Now no-one was hiring until the New Year and he’d almost used up all of his Job Seeker’s Allowance. To say he was troubled was an understatement. Of course, his phone had been burning a hole in his jeans all the way home but he dared not make the call just yet. Once you took that first step down the abyss it was hard to get out again, even if you didn’t go far. Plus he couldn’t end up in prison again. He just couldn’t.

Trudging across the concrete forecourt, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket to escape the morning chill, he sniffed noisily and hacked a loogie to the cobbled wall. It glistened vulgarly against the crumbs of glass and algae, like a shiny jewel floating on a concrete cesspit. With a small hitch he jumped up the two steps to the lower walkway, heading for the stairs. With the lack of wind and the air sagging with frost, the stench of piss, vomit, weed and alcohol was almost over-powering – a crude testament to the amount of human filth that resided there. For a long time, now, the blocks had been an eyesore. Hulking brown brick shells with their thick brown-walled balconies and stained concrete encased stairs – they were the epitome of deprivation. Most people had stopped attempting to make the best out of a bad situation years ago and some were content, now, to just make it worse. For example, the withered wreath on one of the ground floor doors had already been tainted with milkshake. No doubt by a group of kids on their way to school this morning. It was their usual signature - half the school windows were usually plastered with it.

It hadn’t always been so bad here. Growing up, sure, the residents had been depressingly poor, as they were now, but you would never have felt the crunch of glass underfoot or hear the rolling clicks as you accidentally kicked a needle down the stairs. No, back then there had, at least, been a sense of community – an empathy of one poor man to another. Now you would sooner get a knife to the gut than a quid for the week’s shopping. If they weren’t so strapped for cash Richie would have had his maw and little brothers out of there by now. It was a bitter pill to swallow; at twenty four, with only a scraping of piss-poor GSCE passes and no steady job, he had little to bring to the table. It wasn’t from the lack of trying though. His criminal record was testament to that. Or, at least, it was a testament to his desperation.

As he reached the top of the stairs a blur of black suddenly hurtled past and it was only at the last second that Richie fondly reached out to make a grab for the retreating hood. He would recognise those orange trainers anywhere. Above them a window opened and an aggravated voice called down, “… and make sure you’re back by tea tonight! I can’t afford to keep wasting food because you decide you can’t be bothered to come home on time!” _Slam_. The window was closed.

Richie raised an amused eyebrow, feeling a sense of déjà vu from his own childhood. “Alright there bruv?” He let go of the hoodie so the lad could turn around.

The dishevelled teen, who had defensively spun around ready to swing, broke into a grin of relief. “Rich!” he breathed, enveloping him in an unexpected hug. “God you scared me!”

As they pulled away, Richie flicked Gavin’s cap upwards so he could see his face properly, “You skippin’ again? I thought we talked about this.”

Gavin shrugged, playing the innocent, “Got a free period.” It was a total lie and they both knew it.

“Get to fuckin’ school,” Richie sighed, tugging the cap back down. “And give Mum a break, yeah? She’s still struggling with Nan’s passing. So be home at six thirty for dinner. We got stuff to talk about anyway.”

“Fine, whatever,” Gavin huffed and, with that, the fifteen year old stalked off with all the swagger of a kid who thought he was untouchable and the height of cool. With fondness, Richie shook his head and carried on up the stairs. He wasn’t too concerned; despite his current lack of interest Gavin had brains in his head – maybe not as many as his twin but enough that he had decent prospects.

His mum was fixing her tatty work pinny around her waist as he let himself inside the flat. Once pretty with glowing cheeks and brown pixie hair, now sallow-faced and going grey without elegance, Paula had long lost her good looks to stress and hard-living. Aged before her time, Richie always felt infinitely sad when he looked into her heavy tired eyes. Her struggles had been for the benefit of him and his brothers and he would be eternally grateful. “Hi Mum.” He greeted, making a beeline for the kettle.

“Morning love, any luck at Gregson’s?”

“Nah,” he lied, “nothing going right now – he took my number though, said he’d call if a job came up.”

“That’s something I suppose,” she sighed as she slipped into her coat. “At least you’ve still got the depot. We’ll need that money to tide us over to the New Year now that the shop is shutting early for Christmas.”

Richie grunted, “Yeah…” He hadn’t had the courage to tell her that he’d been released from there almost a month ago. While it had only been two nights a week and a pittance pay, working at the local delivery centre had given him enough to help his mum cover the rent of the flat. With the rent due in a week’s time and no money in his bank account, he was getting desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures. He shivered at the thought of what he knew he had to do; there was no escaping it now. He literally had no other choice and if it kept a roof over their head… it was worth the risk. It was definitely worth the risk… “What time you on to?” He asked.

“Six,” she replied, before kissing his cheek, “so be a doll and get tea started tonight.”

“Sure maw,” he replied quietly, wondering if he was even going to be here at that time. No doubt there would be hell to pay if he wasn’t. _It’s worth it_ , he told himself. _It’s worth it_. So why did he feel so sick?

 

~*~

 

Down on the forecourt, Gavin glanced up at the flat, making sure nobody was watching before he leapt over the railing and jogged down the back alley. The bus that went past the school left from Penny Street, the other side of the flats, but he had no intention of catching it.

As he came to the main road a blue van honked it’s horn and he smirked, jogging down to meet it. The back door of the vehicle opened as he approached and he grinned as six familiar faces peered out of the gloom.

“Oi oi,” he greeted, clambering in.

“Alright mate!”

“Gavie!”

“You made it! Awesome!”

Gavin took a seat on the cramped metal floor as the door was pulled shut. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“Nice one, nice one,” Kev rallied, sharing a high five before the van took off with a squeal.

 

~*~

 

With a gut-load of dread, Louis stuck his head around the front door and scoped out the lobby. Silent and empty. Perfect. He slipped inside and started to sneak quietly across the floor towards the stairwell. If he was lucky he could creep up to his office and make it look like he’d been there a while. That way he could pretend he’d missed the meeting because he was waylaid by enquiries. Maybe he could even-

“Aha!” A face popped out of the reception window.

Louis jumped a foot in the air and clutched at his heart desperately, “Fuck me, Johnnie!” he swore. The elder desk sergeant launched into cascades of laughter to which Louis set him with an indignant glare, “Not funny! I nearly messed meself!”

“That’s what you get for not answering your phone!” Johnnie crowed, waggling a chastising finger. “Mullet’s been on the war path all morning looking for you.”

“I know, I know,” Louis groaned, “I slept in and missed his precious briefing.” Even though there was a chilly draft in the lobby, Louis unbuttoned his coat and slipped it off, hoping it would make it look like he’d been here a while, should the main man spot him. “It’s his fault anyway,” he grumbled, “we’re down two detective sergeants and _three_ constables and he hasn’t bothered his arse to sort it out. We’re all having to work double shifts to make up. Yesterday I started at eight am and I didn’t leave here until two o’clock this morning! I’m bloody knackered.”

Johnnie smiled, “Well then, it might please you to learn he’s done something about the staffing issue.”

“Oh?” Louis feigned interest. Despite his grumbling, the last thing he wanted to do was wet nurse a newbie for the next few days. He had too much to do. There was the overhanging spate of burglaries on the small high-street businesses, which had been going on for months now. Whoever it was had experience as they left little forensic behind and the bastard seemed to be able to get around all the cctv and surveillance systems. Until the thief slipped up or someone caught a visual they were pretty snookered in catching them. Then there was the spate of arson attacks on cars – particularly out on the Eastfield estate. Again, little forensic to go on but it was likely to be bored youths. Then there was the unknown they’d fished out of the reservoir last week – the post mortem was inconclusive as to the cause of death and, therefore, it was impossible to determine whether it was a crime or not. So they were in a bit of a limbo. If they could figure out who he was then they might be able to determine if there were any prior health issues that might explain his fatal swimming session but searches, so far, had proved fruitless. On top of that, he had so much paperwork to get through that it was in danger of falling through the floor of his office and into the interview rooms below.

Johnnie leaned heavily on the desk and set him an indulgent smile, “Yeah, two new faces. Man and woman. Both in civvies – so definitely CID bound. No names, though. Mullet whisked them off upstairs the moment they arrived. However,” Johnnie lowered his voice, eyes twinkling with mischief, “I think one of them might be to your interest.”

Okay, now _that_ had Louis’s attention. Denton CID tended to be the dumping ground for the retirees, the demoted and the career driven women who knew the fastest way upwards was to climb the ranks at the crappier stations. Don’t get him wrong, he didn’t judge people’s worth by their looks, gender or age _and_ he had always made life-long friends with whoever joined the team. It was just… Louis rarely got ‘interest’ of the male variety in Denton CID – probably because Mullet didn’t trust him to remain professional. Not that he had ever given Mullet cause to think that. Despite some of his other transgressions, Louis was pretty professional with his love life. He preferred the long game rather than the express one and that’s why he didn’t have a string of awkward work relationships – unlike some of the others in the office. It was also one of the reasons he hadn’t been on a date for over three years… Plus, he would never date someone who worked under him; he’d seen too many people get burned, usually unfairly. Not that people hadn’t tried to set him up in the past, despite his protests that he was happy as he was. The acceptance of his sexuality was maybe one of the few positives about Denton Police – nobody cared he was gay. _Nobody_. For a station full of old men and heterosexuals they were remarkably accepting – especially when half the town seemed stuck in the 1970s. In fact, as he rose from DS to DI and solidified his place in the Denton family, he was subjected to the same teasing about crushes and attractions as all the straights were and, quite frankly, he couldn’t be happier or more grateful. When he’d aired his thoughts to Arthur Hanlon he had only received a nonchalant shrug in return along with a vague, “we got over that in the 90s - we’ve had to adjust to a hell of a lot weirder things since then. Like mobile phones. Do you know they don’t even have buttons anymore, just tiny letters squeezed into the bottom of a touch screen – how they expect you to type quickly and accurately when your finger is the width of three of the letters is beyond me-” Arthur Hanlon everyone; purveyor of technological common sense since 1958. He was also one of Louis’s many beloved adoptive father figures, just like Johnnie Johnson. Talking of which… he trotted over to the lobby window and tapped the desk with his fingers, “Alright, Johnnie, _spill_.”

The sergeant smirked and leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Well, the scuttlebutt around the canteen is that he’s the Deputy Chief Constable’s nephew.”

“Spare me the goss,” Louis huffed, flapping an impatient hand, “give me the _details_?!”

“Well… he’s of average height.”

“Mmm.” Louis liked average height, it saved his neck.

“Lean, like a swimmer.”

“Mmm.” He liked swimmers – had a really hot poster of Mark Foster on the back of his locker door.

“Short curly hair.”

Curls were cute. “Keep talking.”

“Quite a handsome face, if I do say so myself.”

Louis tutted at the fifty-four year old, waggling his finger, “Oh you are naughty, Johnnie, what would Edith say?”

“But the sinker…” Johnnie continued, slow and syrupy.

Louis leaned in closer, with bated breath, “Come on,” he pushed, “don’t tease.”

“Constable’s nephew, right?” Johnnie’s voice was so low it was almost sultry, “Untouchable, right?” Louis nodded eagerly. “Well, he swaggered in here all tight trousered and sans tie, with his shirt unbuttoned past his nipples and his black snakeskin boots squeaking loudly against the lino, and it was all Mullet could do to pretend he wasn’t having a coronary.”

“Oh my god,” Louis groaned blissfully at the mental image, “Good-looking _and_ offensive to Mullet’s delicate sensibilities; my day is made already.”

Johnnie snorted and straightened up, “Good. You better hold onto those thoughts because Mullet’s coming for you.”

“What?!” Louis whipped around in alarm. True enough. He could see the formidable shadow of the Super through the glass door as he made his way down the stairs, glare firmly etched into his brow. “ _Fucking hell,_ ” Louis ran a hand down his rumpled shirt and tried to flatten his wild, un-brushed hair. “Do I look innocent and contrite?”

“Never,” Johnnie cackled before slamming the window closed.

“ _Bastard_ ,” Louis hissed before straightening his back to attention. Always best to go on the offensive when dealing with a pissy Superintendent. “Ahh,” he said loudly, as the door opened, “Good morning Super! Sorry I’m late. I had to attend an unexpected-”

Mullet cut across him sharply, “I’ll hear your excuses later. My office _now_.” With that he turned on his heel and let the door fall shut in Louis’s face.

“Arsehole,” Louis grumbled tetchily as he reached out to open the door again before scampering up the stairs like an obedient dog.

 

~*~

 

Unlike the rest of the forsaken 1980s monstrosity of a building, Superintendent Mullet’s office oozed executive opulence. From the perfectly pristine leather bound tomes on the shelf to the gold leaf trim on the massive oak desk, the place screamed the height of pomp and efficiency. Louis hated it with a passion. Then again, his own office looked like a squatter’s den. Many a time it had been over-hauled but within weeks it would be back to it’s usual chaos. Mullet had long given up reprimanding him for it.

As the Superintendent strode behind his desk, Louis made a beeline for the fish tank. He tapped at the glass fondly and made kissy faces as the fish all rushed to greet him. In his experience, if he was in for a bollocking it was best to make a fuss over the pets first. There was something about it that seemed to suck some of the ire out of Mullet’s tantrum. Louis figured it was because it made a cute, harmless picture that drew out the human side of the Super.

“Ahem!” Mullet cleared his throat.

Louis spun around with a contrite smile, “Sorry, Super! Got distracted there, you know how much I love animals.” Mullet’s eyes glanced sideways and Louis suddenly realised they weren’t alone in the office. At once his face flooded with heat. _Oops_ , how embarrassing, he hastily stepped away from the tank. As he did he clocked the black snake-skin style boots first - almost insidious against Mullet’s expensive blue Wilton carpet. As his eyes travelled upwards, past slim-fit black trousers pasted onto slender masculine legs, Louis’s heart sped up a little. The man wasn’t tall but the slightness of his legs gave him the allusion of height. Louis’s eyes travelled up further and snagged momentarily on the silver buckled belt, which was looped around a very trim waist – clearly more for aesthetic purposes than a need to hold up the trousers. Which, _nice_ ; the person clearly had a sense of style. Once upon a time Louis did too but long shifts and limited time to go into London had turned him into a M&S workwear mannequin. Not that there was anything wrong with that. M&S’s suits and shirt sets were quite nice and fitted well. Newcomer was definitely not wearing M&S though. Louis’s eyes travelled higher to the white shirt, which was… practically indecent. Something tugged hotly in Louis’s stomach as he took in the way it hugged it’s owner’s taut torso and gaped in a long v down his sternum. One slip and a nipple would pop free. Louis stared at it hard, daring the material to move. Christ, this man clearly had balls – one more button and the line between hot and vulgar would have been crossed. But wait… what was that? He stared harder through the thin material at the black splotch, no _splotches_ … was the man’s chest littered with tattoos? _Fuck me_. His eyes shot upwards in surprise, needing to put a face to this lovely outrage, and he was immediately set upon by the greenest of amused eyes. Louis’s heart skipped a beat. And then another. _Fucking hell_ , Johnnie had not been joking. Green eyes was definitely good-looking. He also wasn’t a fresh-faced college grad that was way too young for him to be ogling. While his smooth skin cried youth, the crinkles by his eyes and the set of his jaw belied the man’s true age – definitely mid thirties. Talking of jaws, that fucker’s was so sharp it could cut glass. Louis watched, fascinated, as the bones shifted, the joints moving like crank pins, so strong, so strong. It was then Louis noticed the smirk – ahh, so the newbie had attitude too. _Interesting_. He met the man’s eyes again. Amusement was still there and… was that _mischief_? Louis felt his own mouth curve up into a smile. Oh, this was going to be very interesting indeed.

Mullet’s voice broke through his thoughts tersely. “Detective Inspector Louis Tomlinson meet Detective _Inspector_ Harry Styles.”

_Detective Inspector_? Louis startled a little as he automatically walked over and shook the man’s hand. A DI; now _that_ was unexpected. It also made him curious. They were short on DCs and DSs, _not_ DIs. He and Jim Allen were more than enough to cover that level. So why was Harry here? “He is on loan to us from Lexington,” Mullet explained, “and he has kindly agreed to temporarily fill one of our vacant DS positions for a few weeks. I must stress, however, that although he is filling in as a sergeant, he is to be treated with the respect of his proper rank, which is, of course, Detective Inspector. Do I make myself clear?”

“In other words, we’ve not to treat him like a dogs’ body,” Louis replied, throwing a small wink to his left that had the newcomer’s lips twitching.

Mullet grimaced, “ _Exactly that_. Now, Harry will be working with you as Jim Allen has opted for the DS and DC combo from Tappingham.” _Trust Jim to leap for the numbers_ , Louis grumbled inwardly, not that he was unhappy with getting Harry. Even having one person would help greatly, plus Jim was looking into a serial rapist so he needed the foot soldiers more than Louis did right now. “I trust you will get him up to speed quickly,” Mullet was saying. “Our crime-rate figures are looking rather sick at the moment and it’s been mentioned at county. We really need to make a move on these burglaries and arson attacks.”

“Of course,” Louis nodded, trying to sound engaged. Not that he wanted to make a good impression or anything. Honest. “I’ll set him up with the files while I finish the crime statistics. I assume you need them for this afternoon?”

“Or earlier if possible. I have a meeting at County HQ this afternoon and I would like to take them with me.” Louis internally danced the mamba – county meeting meant no Super until tomorrow, _you dancer_.

As they made to leave, Mullet called Louis back with a hiss, “Tomlinson. Just so you know, Harry is the Deputy Chief Constable’s nephew. I trust I don’t have to explain how important it is to treat him appropriately.”

Louis smiled sweetly, “Of course, Super. Didn’t you know appropriate is my middle name?”

Mullet’s look said it all.

Harry was waiting for him patiently outside the office. Louis set him an impish grin. “So, you’re the Deputy Chief Constable’s Nephew, no wonder you’ve made DI already.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but there was a curve to his lips that belied his amusement as he challenged, “You’re no greyling yourself, mate. Who might you be related to?”

_Oh yes, we’re going to get on just fine, darling._ “Alas,” Louis sighed dramatically, “I had to slog away and get here on the merit of me actions… and also the fact that Mullet had to promote someone and I was the only one suitable at the time.” Harry chuckled, probably guessing it was more the former than the latter but Louis was too humble to admit it. “So…” Louis indicated for Harry to start walking, “you’re from Lexington then?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “been there about two years. I’m originally from Cheshire though, Sandbach Division – took my DC exams there. I was recruited to the Met after a few years, rose up the ranks to DI and then decided I needed something a bit homelier. A maternity cover came up in Lexington so I made a snap decision to apply. Got the job and haven’t regretted the move since. In fact, I was kind of dreading going back to the Met when DI Sallis returned but literally _days_ before my time was up another one of the DI’s went off on long-term sick leave. I was asked to stay. Fast forward to three months ago and he finally returned to work. Only, there’s no space for me at the Met just now so I’m kind of in limbo at Lexington – hence my secondment here.” He cleared his throat, “what about you? I’m guessing from your accent you’re not Denton born and bred?”

Louis laughed, “Nah mate, you’re right. Grew up in Yorkshire - so not a million miles from you really. I joined the police at 18, quickly worked my way up to Detective Sergeant and then got transferred to Denton when I was twenty-five. Mullet promoted me to DI four years later and, five years after that, here I am.”

Harry smiled, “So you’re thirty four then?”

“Almost thirty five,” Louis confirmed. “You?”

“Thirty three in February.”

So they were pretty close in age. Louis felt his smile widen. Silly attraction aside, he would love to make a friend out of this. As a detective, maintaining friendships out-with the work environment was difficult, especially when nine times out of ten you would only get half-way through a night out before being paged back to work. That’s why most of his friends were work colleagues – many of whom had either ten years on his age or ten years off. It was also why he was single.

“Has Mullet offered you temporary housing or is he expecting you to drive from Lexington everyday?” Lexington was only fifteen miles out of Denton but the drive would be a pain in the arse after a while – especially if it had been a long day.

“He’s given me a room in Police Housing,” Harry replied, “which I’ll use for work-nights but I’ll head back to Lexington on my rest days.”

Louis took a sneaky glance at Harry’s hand but it was closed and facing away from him so he couldn’t see if there was a ring. “Won’t your partner have something to say about that?” He asked casually, deciding that asking was probably the best approach anyway.

Harry snorted as he held the stairwell door open, “That was the least subtle attempt at fishing I’ve heard in a while. And to answer your question, I’m divorced and currently single.”  
Louis snapped his head around in surprise, _divorced_? That… he wasn’t expecting. He said as much.

“To be honest,” Harry sighed, “it was technically an annulment. We weren’t married long enough for it to count. He was a lying, cheating bastard and I only found out after signing my name – hours after, I might add. The judge sided with me after hearing the details and, on top of fining him for his antics she made him pay my legal fees as well as compensation for the wedding expense. So that was something.”

“Shit, I’m sorry mate – that’s harsh,” Louis didn’t know what else to say.

Harry shrugged, “It was eight years ago, I’ve long moved past it. Still, it makes for an interesting piece of personal trivia.” He tilted his head curiously, “what about yourself?”

“Technically single,” Louis replied and then decided to be honest, like Harry had been. Anyway, the lad would probably find out sooner or later – and it was always better coming from Louis than the gossip mill, “although you could also say unofficially widowed.”

Harry’s face sobered immediately, “Oh… wow, shit. I’m so sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Louis waved him off. “Like you it happened a long time ago. I’ve had a few relationships since but, unfortunately, nothing has stuck. It’s one of the perils of the job.”

Harry nodded before hesitating, “Um… can I ask why it’s…” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Unofficial?” Louis finished to which Harry nodded again. “We were engaged,” Louis explained, “only days from our wedding when he died. Hence the _unofficial_ title. It’s the main reason I ended up in this hell-hole.”

“In other words, it happened in Yorkshire and you transferred to the first available position, which was here?” It was a statement rather than a question.

Louis shot him a crooked smile, “You should be a detective with those deductive skills. Here’s my office.”

“Funnily enough… oh, _fucking christ_!” Harry cut himself off with a cry of alarm, his mouth hanging in horror. Mullet had given him a vague warning (and apology) that Louis wasn’t the most organised officer in the force but… wow. Every available surface was covered in stacks of paperwork – many of which seemed to have had mini avalanches making it look worse than it probably was. There were empty cups dotted about wherever there was a space and empty sandwich boxes too. The bin in the corner was actually over-flowing, vomiting paper and more rubbish onto the messy floor. And the walls, with their paper-laden pinboads, looked like a serial-killer’s shrine.   

Louis breezily stepped across the clutter and dropped into his chair, spinning around like a bond villain. “Sorry about the mess?” He knew his obvious amusement suggested he was anything but.

“I don’t know whether to scream or call Health and Safety,” Harry choked out. A movement out the corner of his eye made him squeal, “Oh my god, is that a _rat_?!” He took several steps back.

Louis all but cackled as he stood up. Moving some of the sheets away he pulled out a small vibrating device. “My pager actually. I wondered where the hell it had gotten to. Looks like it needs a charge.” He proceeded to dig around his desk for the cable. “In all honesty, it’s not usually this _bad_ in here. PC Baxter was in the process of installing a new filing system before he was transferred,” he indicated the back wall where several flat pack filing cabinets were sitting, unassembled. “I haven’t had the time to finish the job though.”

“Yeah, um…” Harry gingerly stepped over the threshold, “we’re going to have to do _something_ because I need a desk.” He could just about see there was a second one under the mountains of paper. “How about you get on with your paperwork and I’ll make a start in assembling those cabinets. Once we’ve got a clear workspace you can get me up to speed.”

Louis shrugged, “Yeah, that works for me. Give us a shout if you need a hand.”

 

~*~

 

As the day wore in and the winter sun dropped low in the sky, Karen Adams yawned as she locked up the front door. Not much more to get through though. An hour at the leisure centre, a pit-stop at Sainsbury’s, dinner and then an early night; and boy, did she need that early night. The weekend trip to her parents had been exhausting and had had a knock on effect ever since. She desperately needed a few extra hours kip tonight to make up for it. Pocketing the keys Karen took a moment to look the street up and down, hoping to see the familiar outline of her eldest son winding his way up, dribbling a football with his feet. Nothing. Just the gentle sway and flash of Christmas lights in the wind. She sighed. They would have to have another talk with him. This was the third time in the same number of weeks that he had not come straight home from school or texted to say where he was and/or what time he’d be back. Okay, so he was in secondary school now but that meant nothing. He was _eleven_ for Christ’s sake _,_ he wasn’t even a teenager yet! He still had to stretch to push letters into the Post Box! He still liked to play with his toy rocket ships! Going out on his own after school without alerting anyone as to where he was and what time he would be back _was not on_. Nor was ignoring her calls and texts. Oh well, she just hoped he at least had his keys on him.

“Come on Mum! We’re going to be late!”

Groaning, Karen hitched up her handbag and hurried down the steps to the car. As she slid inside, dumping her bag on the passenger seat, she twisted around to the back to make sure all seatbelts were on. “Now you’re _certain_ you’ve got your costume Emma?” She checked.

“Yeah mum.”

“Hat? Towel?”

“Yes!”

“Goggles? If not you’ll have to do without. I’m not buying you anymore this year.”

“I’ve got them! Promise!” Her seven year old whined.

Karen then turned to her other son, who was utterly engrossed in his phone, typical, “Sparring mitts, Declan? Punching pad?”

“In my bag,” he muttered distractedly.

“Good,” she sighed, turning back to switch on the engine, “let’s go.” As she slowly started to reverse down the drive she added, “Oh and Dec? Can you text your brother and remind him that if he hasn’t got his keys then he should go to Marie’s?”

Her request was met by another grunt.

“Was that a yes?”

“Mmm.”

_Kids_.

 

~*~

 

“Tea?” Louis held up the steaming mug like an alter offering. He actually felt pretty bad for the effort Harry had just had to expend in tidying up _his_ office. It had been a monstrous task but the lad (and himself eventually) had done an astounding job. Not only was all the paperwork completely gone but the desks had been washed, the computer equipment sanitised, the blinds dusted and the floor vacuumed. Even the walls looked pristine now that the pin boards had been de-cluttered. In all the years Louis had been in Denton the place had _never_ been so tidy. It was only now that he realised it was actually a pretty pleasant office under all the crap. 

Harry took the mug with a grateful, “thanks,” as he watched Louis perch himself up on his – spotless! - desk.

“Did you get yourself logged-in alright?” Louis nodded towards the computer next to Harry, which was reflecting the Holmes 2 logo.

“Yeah, no issues actually…” Harry replied, sitting back, “was pleasantly surprised to find the system is running off Windows 8. I was expecting XP to be honest.”

Louis sniggered, picking up his own mug of tea, “Not the first time that’s been said. You can thank Mullet for it – he’ll do anything to improve Denton’s crime figures, even splurge on the latest technology when the budget allows.” He took a slurp from his mug, “So… we’ve got about an hour left of the shift, do you want to go over the current cases?”

Harry nodded, “Sure, if you give me the basics I can read up on the system tomorrow.”

They were half-way through discussing the arson attacks when a loud knock startled them out of conversation. Johnnie Johnson put his head around the door. His face was grim. “Louis, I just got a phone call from a distraught motorist. She says she’s found a child’s body – thinks it might have been a hit and run but isn’t sure. She says there are weird marks on the body. Charlie Alpha 1 is en route, as is the police doctor, but we’re going to need a senior officer on the scene until we know for certain. Unfortunately, Jim’s in the middle of an interrogation right now so it falls to you I’m afraid.”

Louis sighed, why did he always end up with the harrowing cases? Nothing was harder than having to tell a set of parents that their child was dead. Reluctantly he stood up and reached for his coat, “Where are we heading, then?”

“About half way down Forest Road – opposite the west entrance.”

“Any reports of a missing child?” Harry asked, as he too reached for his coat.

“Nothing yet,” Johnnie replied, glancing between them, “but the kid might not have been dead long enough for his parents to have missed him.” 

Louis nodded, that was a good possibility. “Okay Johnnie, tell Charlie Alpha 1 we’re on our way.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter deals with child death.

Sleet splattered against the windscreen as they drove. Louis had the wipers working furiously, his hands clenched around the steering wheel as he attempted to navigate the dark country road. It was a sod of a night; a perfect compliment to the events unfolding. In the far distance he could see the faint flashing red and blue lights of the attending services dancing across the valley. It wouldn’t be long until they reached the scene - probably only another five minutes.

He tried to keep his emotions in check by going through the crime scene procedure in his head. He had always found it difficult to detach himself when it came to crimes with corpses – especially when a child was involved. There was something inexplicably harrowing about seeing a life heinously cut short and knowing something worse was still to come; informing the family. He could remember the expression on every single face of every single person he’d had to deliver the bad news to. They were etched into his brain; popping up like some grotesque Jack-in-the-box whenever his guard was down and _haunting_ his sleep whenever his mind dared to dream. But as hard as the repercussions were to deal with at times, he hoped he never stopped caring. For a man desensitised to loss and devastation was a man who had lost part of his soul – or at least that’s what his grandfather had told him before he died.

Louis had seen all too well what happened to police officers who became desensitised to the job and it quite honestly terrified him that one day it might happen to him too. It was a conversation he’d undertaken so many times on boozy maudlin nights with Bill Wells and Arthur Hanlon; what were the signs that you’d reached your limit? Arthur felt that as soon as you stopped _wanting_ to solve crime and merely went through the motions for the sake of a pay slip it was time to leave. Bill, on the other hand, felt it was the moment you stopped feeling guilty when a case went cold. 

Louis wondered what Harry’s opinion would be. So far the ex-Met DI had been a bit of surprise; there was a reason why detectives were stereotyped as tough, cynical, middle-aged soaks who trudged their way to the answers with dogged persistence rather than astounding leaps of logic.

Despite showing he could throw back the banter and sarcasm as good as he got, over the last seven hours Harry had demonstrated he was a pretty gentle soul on the whole. That didn’t mean he wasn’t smart; his cognitive reasoning and memory appeared _razor sharp_ , but most detectives were the same. It was his incredibly warm and gracious manner that was so striking and set him apart from Louis’s traditional partners. The guy literally radiated positivity and was so charming that within two hours he had Johnnie bringing him a mug of tea without being nagged to death. Louis never got tea unless there was some kind of Tunnock’s Teacake bribe involved. How Harry managed to get not only a cuppa but also two Jammy Dodgers out of the stingy bastard, Louis hadn’t a clue. He even managed to entice the cranky Ernie Trigg out of his dusty cave. Then again, Ernie’s show of socialness might have less to do with Harry as a person and more to do with the returning of a stack of files he’d probably been looking for… for months *cough*.

But what really set the Lexington DI apart from any of Louis’s previous colleagues were his jokes. Harry had the corniest sense of humour Louis had ever encountered in his life.

 **Harry building the filing cabinets** : What did one cowboy filing cabinet say to the other? Drawer!

 **Harry hitting the keyboard** : I love pressing F5. It’s so refreshing.

 **Harry rifling through the stationery drawer** : What did the magnet say to the paperclip? I find you attractive.

 **Harry retelling amusing cases** : I once asked a suspect where he was between 3 and 4 and he said ‘Preschool.”

Louis had never met a detective like him before. The nature of the job tended to strip a person down by the time they reached DS and Louis couldn’t help but feel curious as to how Harry had kept himself so wholesome. You didn’t get to the position of Detective Inspector without a life-changing journey. Harry didn’t appear to have any visible scars, physical or emotional, and as an ex-Met detective the guy must have bore witness to some of the most distressing cases out there.

A flash of bright blue caught his eye above the hedge row and he realised they were almost at the perimeter. His stomach clenched. Regardless of what caused the death, he was going to tear a family apart tonight. Their child was dead… their _child_. Three weeks before Christmas too. _Christ_ … there were probably unwrapped presents sitting in a cupboard somewhere… presents that wouldn’t see the bottom of a Christmas tree or the gleeful smile of a giftee. The thought of a grieving parent having to deal with that as well as the loss of their child…  _God_ , he blinked rapidly to clear the burn in his eyes.

As the car rounded the bend he found they were, indeed, at the outer-perimeter of the scene. Thirty metres beyond the ‘police incident’ sign was a mess of emergency vehicles, officers, cones and tape; procedure, he liked to see that. A cold and sodden looking officer in a fluorescent jacket indicated for him to stop and, winding down his window, Louis slowed and flashed his I.D.

“Evening, sir” the constable greeted and Louis recognised him as 26 year-old PC Chris McPherson of the traffic division. The guy looked a little surprised and also _a lot_ relieved to see him, “Are you taking on this case? We were expecting DCI Allen.”

“Jim’s caught up with one of his cases so we’re filling in for now,” Louis explained.

At the ‘we’ the PC ducked down a little so he could see the passenger seat and tipped his hat respectively to Harry. Obviously he didn’t know who he was but was experienced enough to recognise a senior officer. “Right, sir” McPherson said, straightening up, “I’ll let them know you’re here. If you just park up to the side there…” he pointed towards the verge, “the body is to the front of Charlie Baker 1,” he indicated the car in the middle of the scene. “The police surgeon is also there – I believe he wants to talk to you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, McPherson.” Louis wound the window up and pulled the car over to the side, graciously leaving enough room so Harry didn’t step out into the ditch. “Brace yourself,” he warned, buttoning up his coat. He knew how open to the elements this area was – when the direction was just right it was like stepping into a wind tunnel. Harry did up his coat too and they both clambered out, wincing as the squalling sleet splattered against their faces. Louis pulled his beanie down lower before trudging towards the tape. An officer was awaiting them with gloves and shoe covers. With way too much practiced ease they slipped them on and ducked into the scene.

The body was, indeed, a few metres in front of the car and was being considerately kept dry by a series of umbrellas and a weighted down plastic sheet. In the middle of putting his kit away was the police surgeon. Louis recognised the blond tips immediately and smiled, teasing out an, “Oi oi look lively, Dr Horan’s in da house. All hail the almighty.”

The man’s head snapped up and he offered a tired grin, “Well, well, I might have known it would be you, Tomlinson. Somehow you always get the ones in the worst of conditions. If it’s not at the bottom of a sewage pipe it’s out in the middle of nowhere in the midst of a winter storm.”

“Just like to keep you on your toes,” Louis declared, giving the man a quick one-armed hug. “How you doing, mate?” He and Niall Horan had been friends for a long time now. The young Irish doctor had taken over the role as ‘police surgeon’ seven years ago when Dr Maynard had retired. Sharing a similar age and personality, he and Louis had hit it off straight away. Of course, given the nature of their jobs, it was hard to meet up regularly but they tried not to let more than a month slip by between drinks at the King’s Arms. However, they often caught ten minutes of chit chat every other day at the station when Niall popped in to declare a suspect fit for interview or to deal with a medical issue in one of the cells.

“Tired, you?”

“Mullet was at county all afternoon,” Louis sniffed, “so just _grand_ thanks.”

Niall chuckled, “I see. So who’s the newbie then?” he nodded towards Harry. There was a sharkish glint of glee in his eye that forewarned Louis he was in for a bit of ribbing later. _Joy_.

Louis gestured between the two as nonchalantly as he could. He wasn’t going to give his friend any free ammo. “This is my temporary new assistant, DI Harry Styles, on loan from Lexington. Harry, this is Dr Niall Horan, one of Denton’s two police surgeons.”

Niall whistled as they shook hands, “A _DI_? Wow. What the hell did you do wrong to get shipped over to this dump?”

Harry laughed quietly as he slipped his hand back into his pocket for warmth, “Nothing, honest. We were over-staffed, Denton was under-staffed; it seemed like a good chance to enact a bit of effective police budgeting by temporarily redistributing me over here.”

“Ahh, the good old ‘let’s share resources rather than spend money creating resources’ approach,” said Niall. “Well, welcome to Denton anyway and good luck working with this one. Mullet tends to give him the worst cases out of spite. Talking of which…” Niall’s expression tightened as his eyes darted downwards and by god Louis could sympathise. He had yet to do more than take a glance, wanting to get the ‘pleasantries’ over with first so he could then focus completely on the job – not just out of professionalism but also out of respect for the life lost.

“What have we got then,” he asked softly.

Niall crouched and slipped the sheet back to unveil the top of the body. Louis steeled himself before lowering his gaze to take in the kid’s pale and bruised face. _Good god_ , he whimpered internally, the kid could barely be older than his youngest siblings…

“Pre-teen male,” Niall sighed, “brown hair, hazel eyes, one distinguishing mark here,” he pointed to an inch-long scar under the child’s chin. “I estimate he’s around the age of ten – although it’s hard to tell without an autopsy these days. He could simply be small for his age.” Pulling out a pen he gestured to various areas of the face. “I’m no pathologist of course but if you look carefully at the scratches here and here there is a definite pattern… like that of a chain link fence? I would guess at some point recently he was pressed against one. He was also…” the doctor swallowed thickly and looked away, “raped.”

Harry visibly tensed and Louis felt the bottom of his stomach fall out, “Raped?” He repeated, barely louder than a whisper.

Niall nodded grimly, “No mistaking it… and I’m guessing it was before death.” He did not have to say more. Louis closed his eyes against the immediate prickle of tears. _Shit_.

“How long do you think he’s been dead?” asked Harry, a small quiver in his voice belying his inner emotions.

Niall pursed his lips, “Obviously I can’t be precise, I’m not a pathologist, but considering there are only traces of rigor mortis in the eyelids and the fact the boy’s still in school uniform… I’d say… maximum of three hours?”

“Cause of death?” Louis croaked.

“Well,” Niall tugged the sheet back over the boy’s face, “there’re no obvious injuries or markings on the body so… given how bloodshot the eyes were I would say he was most likely smothered. A pathologist will be able to confirm that.”

“Raped and suffocated to death?” Harry reiterated; there was a hard set to his jaw now; anger. Louis figured he was thinking along the same lines – that the death was probably accidental, caused by the rapist trying to keep the kid quiet. _What an absolute bastard_.

“My guess…” Niall shrugged, standing up. “I think you need to get forensic down here a.s.a.p. This weather will clear the scene of microscopic evidence very soon.”

Louis nodded and turned to the nearest PC, forcing himself into business mode. “Call Control, please, and ask for them to get a SOCO team down here now. We’re treating this as a murder.” The woman nodded and turned away, lifting the radio to her mouth.

Louis turned to the next two PCs, “Let’s see if we can find out who this boy is. Check to see if there have been any reports of a missing child yet. If not, find out what school he’s from – his uniform shouldn’t be hard to figure out.”

Niall peeled the sheet back again, from the other end, to uncover the boy’s clothes. Louis recognised the mud-spattered shoes instantly – black Hogan Kids _Interactive_ trainers – he’d put a small dent in his bank account buying similar ones for his little brother as a Christmas present. Those were expensive shoes, even second hand; an indication that his parents weren’t too short of money. The trousers were the typical mass-produced school-wear type, as was the white shirt, but the tie was a distinctive yellow and navy with a small emblem under the knot. The coat, too coat was a distinctive blue North Face thermal, not the cheapest on offer. It was probably reasonable to deduce the child was from a middle-class background.

“Beg pardon, sir,” one of the PCs piped up, Louis recognised him as PC Anish Sood from traffic division.

“Yes son?” Louis almost snorted at himself a second later – the lad was probably only six or seven years his junior. When did he start acting so old?

“The boy’s uniform is a dead ringer for my nephew’s, sir - same colour tie, same style of logo… I think he might go to St David’s Academy.”

Louis gave this a moment’s consideration. St David’s was on the south-western side of Denton and, apart from the small Westfield Council Estate and the even smaller Leaward Council Estate, very much a middle-class area. This would certainly fit with his clothing. However, if he was from that area then that was 5 miles he’d have had to cross to get to this spot. Of course, it depended on what time the boy went missing but if he was killed _after_ school then he must have been brought here by vehicle. Foot would have taken too long. He shared this thought out loud.

“But if the killer had a car, why dump the body _here_ where someone was bound to find it? Why not drive to the river or into the heart of the forest?” Harry replied, with a frown.

“Good point,” Louis agreed, “but it’s probably for the same reason that they dumped the body on the road instead of that field over there or amongst those trees.” He pointed to the waterlogged field beyond the hedgerow which probably only ever saw cattle or sheep and then the cluster of trees on the other side of the road. “Whoever it was made no attempt to conceal the body.” Harry’s lips twitched in a way that suggested he was mildly impressed by Louis’s quick deducting. Louis ignored the sudden swoop it caused in his stomach and pressed onwards with his reasoning, “That begs the question of _why_ , though? Why dump the body in plain sight? Was this where the boy was raped and killed and the killer fled in panic once they’d realised what they’d done? Or was there a reason the killer brought the body here, in particular, to be dumped? Were they planning on hiding it in the surrounding countryside but got disturbed? Or did they just decide to push him out the car the moment no one was in sight?”

“Well,” said Harry slowly, tapping his pen against his notepad – and just _when_ had he procured that, Louis wondered? “How busy is this road?”

“Surprisingly busy considering it’s ruralness sir,” PC Sood quickly supplied. “It’s a detour if you want to get to Fenwick and miss all the traffic at the Leadside Roundabout, which is really busy between 4 and 6. So um… I’d say, at this time of day, you would average a car every five to ten minutes.”

“So we’re talking a ten minute window before someone came along?” said Harry thoughtfully. “Hmm, I think, then, it’s safe to assume the boy was raped and murdered elsewhere and then dumped here by vehicle shortly before the woman discovered him.”

Louis nodded sharply. “We’ll start with that as a working hypothesis so let’s get someone looking at cctv footage of cars leaving or approaching the Granton side of Forest Road between 3.30 and 5pm. We also need people chapping on the doors of all our local paedophiles to verify their whereabouts during that timeframe too. I want to know the very second if one of them has a car that appears in the cctv footage. Thirdly, I want to find out who this boy is as soon as possible – he must have a family so let’s find them before they find out the news from a different source. Although. we need to bear in mind that there is a possibility they may be involved so let’s tread carefully, think twice about what information you give out. Last, but certainly not least, we need the murder-incident room set up. Someone please radio the station to get on with that. Harry and I are going to go speak to the witness. Any information that comes through must be brought to our attention immediately.” He looked around at the small crowd and clapped his hands, “Go, go, go.”

 

~*~

 

Misha Jones was understandably shaken and tearful. She had been driving home to Woodbridge (two miles out from Fenwick) from her job as a pharmacist when she’d rounded the bend and spotted something lying on the road. Thinking it was just an object that had fallen off the back of a lorry, she had calmly skirted the car around it. Obviously, as she did so, she realised it wasn’t rubble and immediately pulled over. “I… thought my eyes were playing tricks so I got out to take a look… I couldn’t just drive on.” She explained she was first aid trained as part of her job. “I don’t really know what I expected but I didn’t… I didn’t think it would be a child,” she sobbed. “He was all crumpled on the ground, like he’d just dropped on the spot and…and when I turned him over… I could tell straight away there was nothing anyone could do. That’s when I phoned you.”

“You did the right thing,” said Harry kindly, handing her a tissue. “There really wasn’t anything else to be done.”

“Miss Jones,” Louis addressed her gently, taking a mug off the tray that had just been delivered and pushing it across the desk towards her. “I know it’s probably a bit of a blur but when you approached the scene did you see anything or anyone else around?”

“No,” she shook her head, frowning. “Whoever hit him was gone.”

Louis didn’t correct her assumption that this was simply a hit and run. Firstly he couldn’t until after the post-mortem results and secondly she didn’t need to be made to feel any worse. “Okay,” he nodded, “I need you to think very carefully now, when you were driving along Forest Road, did anyone go past you on the other side of the road?”

She shook her head.

“Are you sure?” Louis pressed gently, “It was a two mile drive along a windy road in bleak weather conditions. It’s okay if you were too busy concentrating to notice.”

“No, I’m certain no one passed me,” she replied, dabbing her eyes. “I remember thinking, shortly before I reached the scene, about how relieved I was because people tend to hare round those bends and in that weather... One of these days there’s going to be a terrible accident. I just hope it’s not me. Anyway…” she sniffled before taking a cautious sip of her tea, “you could always double check my dash cam to be sure.”

Harry and Louis straightened up instantly. “You have a dashcam?” Harry repeated, the tremor in his voice echoing Louis’s own inner excitement. A dashcam offered a certainty no human could ever provide.

“Yes,” Misha nodded, tucking one of her jet black curls back behind her ear. “My Dad kept nagging me after someone t-boned him at a junction and got away with it. Um…” she shakily made to stand, “I can go and get it if you like?”

“We’ll get it as soon as we finish up your statement,” Louis replied, indicating her to stay seated with a kind smile. “It’ll only take a couple more minutes. You’ve had an awful shock and we don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary. Now… if we can go back to when you walked up to the boy… can you describe how he was lying – his _exact_ position…”

 

~*~

 

The entire Murder Incident room was silent as the projected footage played on the big screen. So far Misha’s claim to have seen no one on the road had proved correct. Not one car had passed by. Louis’s eyes flew from side to side as the scenery zipped past, trying to take in every detail. It was difficult, it was dark and their only illumination was the light from the car’s headlamps. They played the recording right up until Misha pulled the car over and they could hear her door open and close.

“Play it one more time,” Harry requested. PC Gilworth stopped the clip and took it back to the start. They watched it again and then again.

“Wait!” Everyone jumped at Sgt Wells’s sudden cry, “I think I saw something. Take it back about five seconds.” He jumped to his feet and walked right up to the screen. Harry and Louis, who were at the very front, leaned closer too. Gilworth took it back to the point where Misha was a few seconds from rounding the last bend before the scene. “Yes! There!” He prodded at a point on the far left, right above the barbed wire. “There’s no hedgerow here so you can look right across the field to where the road winds into the distance after the scene. Watch this spot.” Gilworth took the clip back a few seconds again. Everyone stared where Bill had been pointing, breath bated, just what had Wells noticed? The video played again. Louis forced his eyes to stay open for the full duration. At first he thought he must have missed it but then, suddenly, almost as fast as the blink of an eye, he saw it; a blurry red dot.

“Stop!” He ordered. “Take it back again Gilly and then play it frame by frame.” Gilworth did so until the dot first appeared. Over the next couple of frames the dot seemed to move faster than it ought to _and_ in the wrong direction.

“Am I missing something…?” DC Martin frowned as he leaned over his computer screen in an attempt to see clearer.

Louis pursed his lips as he stepped closer to the screen to point out the dot to anyone who had failed to see it. “Can you all see this red dot here?” There was a murmur of assent.

“What do you think it is?” DC Martin asked. “A reflection or something?”

“Obviously I’m not a hundred percent sure Ainsley,” Louis replied, “but, to me, that looks like the tail light of a car. See how the tops of these hedges are slightly lighter - like they’re being lit up by headlamps?”

“Even if it is a car, sir,” another young PC spoke up, “surely it’s a long shot to even think it could be the killer? I assume that’s what you’re alluding too?”

Louis caught Harry’s eye and they shared a small knowing smile. Oh how they both remember being the eager rookie trying to demonstrate their deductive powers. “Of course it’s a long shot” Louis answered the lad patiently. “And sod’s law dictates I can never get an easy break like that. _But_ if it’s not the killer then I want to know why the hell the driver by-passed the boy and failed to inform the police. Misha Jones said it was obvious it was a body as she drove past – if that car does not contain our killer, why didn’t they stop?”

“Could they have possibly come out of a side road from further ahead?” the same PC suggested – seemingly determined to try and impress. Louis couldn’t help but feel a fatherly fondness, oh to be fresh and eager again, which is why he was kind as he put a metaphorical bullet through the PC’s idea. Walking over to the massive road map on the wall he pointed at the road and said, “While that’s good thinking, there isn’t another turn off until almost three quarters of a mile along, which leads to this farm.” He tapped a finger at the lane. “After that, the next turn off isn’t until the crossroads, here…” he moved his finger along the spindly line, “in Fenton Down.” Martin nodded, bravely hiding his deflation behind a levelled expression as Louis turned to address the whole room. “Right team, we need those CCTV records from Granton _now_. The car obviously carried on towards Fenwick so we also need to focus on any car heading that way from Denton. That means we need to speak to Fenton Down primary school. They have a security camera on their ground which records the spot on Forest Road where the children cross over. If our car didn’t head up to the farm it will have been caught on that camera. Get the footage as soon as possible, even if it means you have to inconvenience the head teacher. If this car does belong to the killer and we can get some kind of description then we can put border control on alert. We do not want this person fleeing the country.” He glanced to his sidekick, who was furiously scribbling something down into a notebook. “Anything to add Harry?”

Harry, seemingly surprised at being addressed, snapped his head up and shrugged, “Uh… just that we should get this video looked over by forensic as soon as possible.” He pointed to the screen. “They might be able to enlarge the car for us – mainly so that we are certain it is actually a vehicle and not some weird anomaly.”

“Good idea,” Louis nodded. “Gilworth, if you could do that please, that would be brilliant. Oh and can some-”

A sharp knock on the door cut him off mid-word. PC Clark, who had been manning the front desk while Bill Wells sat in on the briefing, popped his head around the door. From his expression, Louis could tell right away he wasn’t bearing happy news. “DI Tomlinson, sir?”

“Yes Clark?”

“We’ve just had a call from a Karen Adams. Her son didn’t return home after school and she’s getting very worried.” He hesitated before adding, “Her description matches that of the dead boy.”

Louis closed his eyes. _Shit_. He knew they had to find the family quickly, he knew they had to put a name to the kid’s face but he had selfishly hoped Jim would have been free to take over the case before the call came through. Sod’s luck had struck again. _Bollocks_.

“Did she say which school?” Harry’s voice floated up over the hum of phone calls being made.

“Yeah,” Clark nodded gravely, “St David’s.”

Louis’s stomach clenched. That was too much of a coincidence… It had to be the kid alright. _Shit, shit and double shit_.

“Any sign of Jim Allen coming back?”

PC Clark shook his head with a wince, “No, sir. I believe they got a new lead from the interrogation and he had to act on it straight away. No telling what time he’ll be finished sir.”

Fuck, that settled it then; _he_ was going to have to do the nasty. _Shitty, shitty, fuck fuck_. “Thank you,” he forced out to the wavering PC, “get me the address please and call for a family liaison officer to meet us there in half an hour.”

 

~*~

 

There was no mistaking it was Christmas on Chilton Drive. It seemed every house had lights hanging from their guttering and plastic Santa’s climbing up to an upstairs window. Louis clenched his jaw in an attempt to keep his emotions in check. He knew they had to get as much info out of the family as possible before they broke the news. It would be no good if Louis’s face gave the truth away before they had even crossed the threshold.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked quietly, as Louis pulled them up to the house and switched off the engine.

Louis sighed as he un-clicked his seatbelt, “Yeah… _no_ … ugh, I just _hate_ this part of the job.” He stared up at the twinkling Christmas lights hanging from the eaves of number 24 and felt a lump grow in his throat. It would not be a happy Christmas and New Year for the Adams’. He was about to shatter their lives forever. _Fuck_. He felt Harry’s hand squeeze his knee and slowly turned his head, meeting the other DI’s sympathetic expression.

“It never gets any easier…” Harry rumbled, his voice deep and soothing like a cashmere blanket. Louis felt himself instinctively lean closer as though he wanted to wrap himself in it. “But at the end of the day,” Harry continued, “remember you will get to bring the bastard responsible to justice. It may not seem like it at first but eventually that will bring the most comfort to the family.”

Louis swallowed hard, knowing what he was saying was true, and squeezed the top of Harry’s hand gratefully, “Yeah.”

For a second their gazes locked and Louis was momentarily transfixed by the vivid greenness of Harry’s eyes. They looked at him with an intensity he felt right to the bone. He suddenly felt naked – vulnerable – laid bare - and yet… oddly soothed. Harry blinked and the moment was lost. “Come on,” he said, with one last squeeze of Louis’s knee, “let’s get this done.”

Louis allowed himself one more sigh before they began to make their way up to the house, followed closely by the family liaison officer and a couple of PCs.

 

The Adams’ family home was typical middleclass Denton. Built in the eighties, it was a non-descript two story dwelling, pebble-dashed in pale grey, with a flat roofed garage and silver-framed windows. The front garden was your typical postage stamp and the drive was made of slab and raked stone. It wasn’t exactly a looker but it was a good size, in a good neighbourhood and was probably a good place to raise a family.

Inside, the Adams’s had definitely put some effort into decorating but there was enough family clutter around to make it feel homely rather than show-homey. Louis discreetly slid a DVD case from the couch to the floor as he sat down. The massive Christmas tree in front of the living room window glittered almost mockingly – as did the school photographs from the mantelpiece. There was no mistake; the dead boy was Jack Adams. His face grinned down at them in a way that had Louis’s stomach clenching again.

Karen Adams, a pretty brunette in her late thirties who shared most of her son’s facial features, was skittery with nerves and apologies. She kept up a running audio of ‘I’m so sorry for causing any hassle, I’m sure he’ll probably be home any minute but I can’t help but worry – he’s never been this late before.’ Her husband too, still coated and shoed from searching, was genuinely apologetic and anxious.

“Can you start at the beginning Mrs Adams,” Harry requested gently, notebook flipped open, “what time was Jack meant to be home?”

Karen worried her bottom lip, “His school finishes at 3.30 and he usually walks home with some friends. It normally only takes him twenty five minutes.”

“You say _normally_ ,” Louis queried, pressing as lightly as possible, “are there times it takes him longer?”

Karen glanced at her husband, “Well… we’ve had a few issues with him going over to the park and playing football with his friends instead of coming back here first.”

“He’s football daft,” her husband put in, “and so are his friends. They’ve just moved up to high school so they’ve been testing their growing freedom against their old boundaries. They’re a great bunch of kids – they just sometimes get so caught up in their fun that they don’t always think properly. To be honest, though, when I think of some of the other things they could be getting up to, staying out late playing football is not much to complain about.”

“Which park do they usually go to?” Harry asked, flipping over to a new page in his notebook.

“Ridgeley,” Mr Adams replied, gesturing vaguely in the direction, “it’s only a few streets over.”

Louis nodded, “I know it – there’s a play park and a tennis court there too, right?”

“Yeah,” Mr Adams agreed. He looked tired. Louis’s chest tightened in sympathy. It seemed cruel to make them wait but they needed a solid start. Grief had a habit of confusing the details.

“What did you think when Jack didn’t come home at four?” Harry asked Mrs Adams, “Were you worried straight away?”

She shook her head, “No. As I said, it’s become a bit of a regular habit of him playing footie with his mates before coming back. I usually allow him until half four before I call him to come back.”

Harry looked up sharply, “He has a mobile?”

Mr Adams chuckled, “What eleven year old hasn’t? My sister’s boy has one and he’s only six.”

“What make and model is it?” Louis asked, wondering why it hadn’t been on the boy.

“Um… it’s a Samsung Galaxy III – my old one,” Mrs Adams replied shakily.

“And what’s his number?”

“07700 900148.”

Louis allowed Harry a moment to write that all down  before asking Mrs Adams, “Did you call him at half four today as usual?”

She nodded, “Several times but it just rang out. I figured he was probably still playing so I left him a few texts.”

“At what point did you start to worry?”

“Um… well not for a while,” Mrs Adams admitted, blushing in shame. “That probably sounds awful but his behaviour wasn’t out of the ordinary. He’s usually back no later than five – and even earlier on days like today when Emma and Declan, his siblings, have after school classes. But… like I said, we’ve been having issues with him not doing that and forgetting to check his phone. So I wasn’t worried until about teatime.”

Louis nodded in understanding, “So did you take Emma and Declan to their lessons as normal?”

Mrs Adams nodded, “Yeah, we left at five. I was more annoyed than worried at that point. Jack has his own set of keys to let himself into the house but he’s not always diligent enough to make sure he puts them in his bag. The fact that he hadn’t called me back meant I didn’t know if he had them. As we left the house I asked his brother to text and remind Jack to go to our friend’s house down the street if he didn’t. Of course, I tried to call him a few times while we were at the sports centre but he didn’t pick up. I then texted Steve,” she indicated her husband, “and told him we needed to have another talk with Jack later on.”

“He’s a good boy, he just gets too excited and wrapped up in the moment sometimes,” Mr Adams sighed. “Over the years we’ve given him an appropriate amount of freedom and responsibility to make his own decisions but there’s also a line. Jack’s only eleven and there’s a limit for his own safety. He knows that. We don’t mind him playing out with his friends, even when it’s dark, we don’t mind him staying in the house alone for an hour or two either but not answering his phone and letting us know his whereabouts is not acceptable. He knows that – he just…”

“Gets so wrapped up in playing football with his friends that he forgets he hasn’t called?” Louis finished softly. Mr Adams nodded.

“And he still hadn’t contacted you by the time you got home from the sports centre?” Harry checked, even though he and Louis knew that by that time the boy was being transported to the morgue.

“No,” she sighed. “He wasn’t home either. Steve was back twenty minutes before me and had already been to our friend’s to check if he was there. Marie said she hadn’t seen him.”

“I then went over to the park,” Mr Adams added, “to see if he was still there but it was empty. Karen had just arrived back with Emma and Dec when I returned.”

“I then phoned his friends,” said Mrs Adams. “We know most of them. According to them they had stopped playing football around four-thirty, as normal. None of them have seen or heard from Jack since then.”

Louis mentally added ‘get a list of Jack’s friends’ to his ‘to do’ pile.

“We went out looking again but there was no sign of him anywhere,” said Mr Adams. “We wondered if maybe his phone had died and he’d headed over to a house of one of his friend’s – one we don’t know. The thing is, surely the parents would have had the sense to bring him home by tea time or at least give us a phone call to let us know where he is. Jack knows all our numbers by heart and we’re in the BT directory.”

“We really started to get worried by seven-thirty,” said Mrs Adams, wringing her hands in her lap.

“That’s his curfew on a school night,” Mr Adams explained, “so I called around the local hospitals in case he’d had an accident but, thankfully, he wasn’t there.”

“That’s when I called the station,” said Mrs Adams, bravely pushing through the urge to cry. “As I said before, he’s probably at one of his friend’s houses and hasn’t contacted us because he knows he’s in trouble. He’ll be putting off the inevitable row as long as possible – not realising how worried we actually are. No doubt he’s convinced his friend’s parents that we’ve okayed a dinner or a sleepover. He has such a charming personality that he could probably even convince the devil that there’s no such thing as hell. Anyway… we thought it best to contact you. Even if you can just trace the friends that we don’t know and confirm he’s with one of them... I’m sure you appreciate how worried we are.”

Louis nodded at her with a small, slightly pained smile, before looking over at Harry. The other DI took a moment to stop writing and he met Louis’s eyes with a sadness that was almost tangible. Both their gut feelings told them these parents were not involved and would probably not give them many more clues. It was time to tell them the truth. Louis steeled himself. “Do you have a photograph of Jack, Mrs Adams?” He asked, even though he knew she did, there were three on the mantelpiece. Mrs Adams didn’t know he already knew what her son looked like though. He needed something to make her believe him and figured the scar might be it. Given it’s location it was unlikely to be visible in any of those photographs.

“Of course!” She got up and hurried over to fetch one of the frames, gazing at it fondly as she carried it over. “This was Jack three months ago when he started high school. He always took a good picture.” Louis thanked her as she passed the frame over to him and made a quick show of studying the face. He tried not to think about the other version he’d seen, instead making this the lasting image of Jack in his head; happy, healthy and full of life. He lowered the frame, “Does your son have a scar on his chin?”

“Yes,” Mr Adams nodded fondly, not realising it wasn’t visible in the picture. Mrs Adams did though and he saw her jaw twitch. “He got that about two years ago. Came off his bike on the slabs out there,” he pointed towards the driveway, “and burst his chin open. Needed six stitches.”

“Painful,” Louis sympathised before clearing his throat. “Mr and Mrs Adams, can I introduce you to PC Laura Green,” he gestured to the other non-uniformed officer in the room. “She is a family liaison officer. Her job is to support you in any way you require and will be the bridge between you and the investigative team.” He let his tight reign on his expression fall so that some of his inner emotions showed.

“Investigative team?” Mrs Adams chuckled nervously, looking away – already in denial of what she could see coming. “I just thought you’d phone the school to get the names of the rest of his friends or something?”

“I’m afraid not, Ma’am,” said Harry softly, his own expression echoing Louis’s. “I think you better sit down.”

Louis saw the tremble in her hands as she sat down next to her husband. He tried to keep his voice as even and gentle as possible, “Mr and Mrs Adams, there is no easy way to tell you this…” and that was the moment Mr Adams went white in realisation.

 

~*~

 

Cupping his hand around the lighter to shield it from the wind Louis began flicking the flame to life.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

The flame fizzed and Louis lit the cigarette before taking a long drag and shoving the lighter away. Slumping back against the car he slowly let the bitter smoke seep out of his mouth. “I gave up ten years ago but occasionally I need the comfort.” It wasn’t comfort any more though; it was a force of habit and it was making him feel nauseous.

He let Harry take the fag out of his hand and raised an amused eyebrow when the other DI took a drag himself.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Louis returned flatly, as he took the fag back.

“I don’t, not really,” Harry replied, after letting out his lungful with a small cough. “Just… some moments in life demand it.” He offered a crooked smile, “I much prefer the other kind of roll-up if I’m honest.”

Louis let out a quiet snort, it was amazing how many of the ‘law enforcers’ played dangerously close to the edge. Given their line of work, it was understandable that a high percentage of CID ended up with addictions in an attempt to cope. A spot of pot now and again, which while naughty, was nothing compared to an alcohol or cocaine addiction – something he’d sadly seen too many times.

“So,” Harry leaned back against the car, “are you okay?”

Louis shot him his best ‘are you fucking kidding me’ eyebrow quirk. Right now the inconsolable Adams’ were being looked after by Laura Green after he ripped up their lives and scattered the pieces.

“Sorry, stupid question,” Harry mumbled. “It’s always hard, I know, but sometimes some cases are harder than others, especially when children are involved.”

“Yeah,” Louis sighed. “I’ve worked on a few mass-casualty incidents before where you only have bits of bodies and clothing to identify a person and I’ve worked a couple of serial killer cases too. I’ve told more people their loved ones are dead than I’ve told people I love them. It never gets easier but you’re right, some are harder than others.” He took another puff and flicking the ash, “I think the emotionally hardest one I’ve ever had to deal with was telling a mother her husband had violently molested their three daughters for over ten years - forcing them collectively through seven abortions before the eldest was even eighteen. He then killed the three girls in a murder-suicide when he found out the eldest was going to run away the moment her school leavers’ form was signed.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” Harry groaned, closing his eyes.

“The mother hadn’t a clue.” Louis whispered, staring across the street at a flashing star decoration hanging on a garage door. Red, yellow, red, yellow, red, yellow. “When the wind is blowing in just the right direction, I can still hear the echo of her screams as the descriptions from her eldest’s diary was read out in court.”

“Fuck, _Louis_ ,” Harry made an abortive movement as though he was about to reach out.

Louis graciously let it slide. “What about you?” he asked instead, flicking the fag’s growing trail of ash to the ground. He hadn’t a single desire to take another drag.

Harry cleared his throat and shifted his weight, “I was on the Middlefield case.”

It took a second for Louis to realise what he was talking about and, when he did, he silently passed the cigarette over, a slight tremble in his hand. Four years ago, Middlefield Primary School in West London had been in the middle of a whole school assembly when maintenance staff walked in and opened fire with M249 machine guns. Four hundred and twenty three pupils had been killed as well as nine members of staff. It became and remains today Britain’s worst shooting-massacre ever.

Harry took a deep drag from the cigarette before muttering, “Over three days I told 189 families that one or more of their children were dead and they had to come and pick the bodies out of a sea of corpses.”

Louis shuddered violently as nausea clawed up his throat.

Harry took another drag before releasing it forcefully into the night sky, “I went to every funeral of every single one of those 189 children I was in charge of identifying. Some times there were up to three little coffins at the altar – all siblings. Whatever tendrils of faith I had in God got buried with the 19000 cubic inches of human ash. Still, you learn to cope because at the end of the day it wasn’t your family so you can detach yourself enough to handle it.” He flicked more ash to the ground, “Of course, it wasn’t the only major incident I had to deal with while I was with the Met. After a while it became a conveyor belt of finishing one overly-publicised minefield of a disaster and beginning another. It was one of the reasons I had to leave. There’s only so much hate and persecution you can witness before it begins to physically affect you.”

“I bet Lexington seemed a million miles removed,” Louis mused.

Harry’s mouth twitched into a small smile, “You could say that. I actually laughed the first time I was told to investigate some missing cows.”

Louis shook his head and gently reprimanded that, “Stolen livestock is serious business – the knock on effect can run into losses of thousands of pounds and potentially threaten the safety of the food market.”

“So I’ve been learning.”

“Just-”

“Control to DI Tomlinson, over.” Louis sighed and pushed himself upright. The radio was still charging on his dashboard so he plonked himself haphazardly into the driver’s seat and didn’t bother detaching it. “DI Tomlinson, over.”

“Louis!” Bill Well’s voice crackled, “we’ve just had a call from another worried mother – her two boys haven’t come home yet.”

Louis’s heart sank, “How long have they been missing?”

“They were supposed to be home by six for their tea. It’s now pushing eleven and neither of them are home yet. She sounds genuinely worried Lou and considering what else has happened…”

“Yeah Bill,” Louis sighed, “okay, send me the address.”

It never rained cases in Denton, it flaming poured.

 


End file.
